Returning to Winsford, Mr Anderson’s lines omit one trait which to many will seem the chief glory of the village—namely, the old inn. The “Royal Oak” is a hostelry such as one does not see every day. Its thatched roofs, and low ceilings, and projecting windows, and general crinkle-crankle are eloquent of the olden time, and the sign, as was the case with all ancient signs, hangs from its own post—a reminder of Boscobel. Hence, by a beautiful rustic lane the traveller wends his way to Exford, and on the outskirts of the village encounters the church.
On a pedestal in the churchyard stands the mutilated shaft of a venerable preaching cross, and hard by the gate one observes an “upping-stock,” or “upstock,” for the convenience of women in mounting their horses after divine service.
Before Exmoor was disafforested and, yet later, made a parish of itself, it is probable that Exford was the ecclesiastical capital of the district—at any rate, of the southern portion of the moor. The parish stands on the very verge of the old forest, and during the reign of King John was actually brought within its limits. Lanes in the neighbourhood were, in more scrupulous times, the forest-bounds, and along these tracks, still passable, were certain marks mentioned in the Perambulations, almost all of which can be identified. One such track, partly diverted from its old course—which, however, may be easily traced—led from what is now a cottage, but was once a small farmhouse, straight to the church. This cottage bears the name of Prescott, and still contains a round-headed stone doorway, and a little square window let into the side of the big fireplace. The late vicar, the Rev. E. G. Peirson, suggests that this may have been the original priest’s cot or parsonage house. “I like to think,” he says, “that my predecessors, before they came into permanent residence here, used to stop at that house when they came over the moor, and clean themselves before going into the church.” He adds, however, that in that case the cottage or its name must date a long way back, as there would seem to have been clergy resident at Exford early in the twelfth century.
Mr Peirson’s theory is pretty, but a simpler explanation is that the cottage belonged to the glebe. It is curious that just at the point where the old lane used to strike the churchyard, a few projecting stones still form a rough stile over the wall.
Probably it will affect most people with a feeling of surprise that there should be any connection between a place so far inland as Exford and smuggling, yet the same is true. In an orchard above West Mill was formerly an old malt-house, where malt was made and whisky distilled. But the most interesting spot to excise men lay rather to the north, at Pitsworthy Cottage. Here was an old stone building used as a turf-house; but the room where the turf was stowed had a party-wall concealing another chamber, to which access could be obtained only by a secret entrance under the office of the thatch. Ordinarily this was blocked by a large stone fitted with a swivel. Long after, pieces of hoops and decayed staves were discovered in this hiding-place. Wooden hoops are seen even now round brandy casks, but these were smaller and adapted to the kegs which the smugglers, landing under Culbone, transported to Hawkcombe Head, and Black Mire, and White Cross, and right down to Pitsworthy. There was no road across the moors in those days—I am thinking of the “forties”—and a man called Hookway is remembered as travelling from Culbone with pack-horses.
More of smuggling anon. Meanwhile, I am disposed to record, for the first time, the nefarious doings of Jan Glass and Betty, his wife. Sheep-stealing was a fashionable pursuit on Exmoor; and at Brendon Forge (see Lorna Doone, chapter lxii.) the conversation was divided between the hay-crop and “a great sheep-stealer”—apparently not the same individual whose hanging set up strife between the manors of East Lyn, West Lyn, and Woolhanger on account of his small clothes, since he is described as “a man of no great eminence” (Lorna Doone, chapter lv.). Be that as it may, Jan was a daring sheep-stealer, and yet, in his way, a public benefactor. Often, during a hard winter, he would bring into Exford stolen mutton, which he retailed at twopence a pound, and at such times the inhabitants were fairly kept alive by him. His modus operandi was to go and gather the sheep—his own and others—on Kitnor Heath and Old Moor into Larcombe Pound at the entrance to his farm, where there was a convenient avenue or grove of beech-trees. Having brought them so far, he would kill the strange sheep, and turn out his own again over the allotments.
Jan played this trick so often that old Farmer Brewer determined to take him, if possible, in the act. With this object in view he “redded” his sheep, and as he could stand in his farm and observe the manœuvres, saw Glass driving among the sheep some red ones. With all speed Brewer made his way across, but by the time he reached Larcombe, Glass had killed and skinned the sheep that were not his own.
In the meantime Betty had not been idle. She had dipped the skins in hot water, so that the wool had come off as easily as from a lamb’s tail, and had given the skins to the dogs.
What had become of the wool? Farmer Brewer, anxious to ascertain, glanced around and spied a large pot. Lifting the cover, he found the fleeces, and, turning to the disconcerted woman, exclaimed:
“Aw, fy, Betty! Here’s the wool!”